Burden
by One Foot Forward
Summary: Her world's become a little bit bigger, but the weight's too much to bear without a little help. Captain Swan. [3x08]


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I

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Every day that she was here wandering, aimless (wasn't _there_) – always _messing up – _was another day Henry spent with him (murderous, treacherous, conniving little piece of _shit_), was another day that the tenuous connection between the two of them strained a little bit further. One of Emma's greatest fears lay in her relationship with her child, and the can it/will it/might it conversation about lasting. It was new, she was _new_, she had abandoned and been abandoned and although she loved him with every broken fibre of her being she knew (like any lost girl should) that his trust in her could only go so far.

She'd left him once before, despite the noblest of intentions (not all noble, she had been so young and so scared and so bitter)

And there had been the Neal thing (the not-dead bastard) and the lying thing and the fighting with Regina thing and sure, Emma did not doubt that Henry saw the best in her (because he was Henry, the brightest light in the whole _god damn _world), but she was so scared that there might not be any 'best' to see.

It left her feeling frustrated and useless and constantly on the verge of tears.

As if that hadn't been enough (it had) – the one she loved most in the world kidnapped and threatened to be twisted against her – all this other _shit_ just had to pile on top, because this was Neverland where apparently _everything you never wanted to happen _did.

Thus Emma grappled with her parents being torn from her (again) (and again), with Mary-Margaret wanting to try for another _baby_ – as her first time had clearly not been good enough – and with David being trapped on the island forever, torn away _just_ as she was warming to the idea of family. And she felt like such a…_failure_, like she wasn't fit to be a mother or a child, she was just…Emma, always _just_ Emma, all alone (and for good reasons).

She could barely even think about Hook or Neal because they just emphasized her _lack_ – her lack of commitment, her lack of love, her lack of determination and willpower and strength and everything else that was _good_ and _honourable_ and that she supposedly should have when two men were looking at her with _those_ eyes and _those_ intentions. The very things she had never more strongly felt she was without.

So Emma did the only thing she could think of, she compartmentalized, she shut down everything but the one problem she couldn't ignore, _Henry, Henry, Henry, _and she refused to talk about anything else, refused to _think_. Anything else would cause her to break, to snap, and Emma Swan was _not_ the type of person to fall apart at the seams during a crisis.

(She refused, willed away the panic and the pain, as well as the hope because she couldn't hang onto one thing and not the other)

- and she would never mention the _thrum_ she felt in Neverland, the one she had been feeling since the diamond and Regina and the fucking _magical candle that caught a shadow_, which set her every nerve on _fire_ –

It was too much. She had twenty-eight years of normal, twenty-eight years of knowing that the only way you could fly was through a machine, the only way to curse someone was with _fuck-off's _and _piece of shit for brains'_. But she would cope (somehow, from whatever cranny or nook she could disparage herself to find). She had always been so great at learning to deal.

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II

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He knew she was another tragedy from breaking and it did more than just worry him – it _fucking sent him into a spiral of anxiety. _Because this was Neverland and there was always another tragedy around the corner, and the only way to get through it was to face each problem head on and find some measure of resolve because otherwise Pan would prey on each chip in your armour until you were a mere spectre of your former glory.

Killian should know – he had been that spectre; perhaps still _was_.

Watching Emma around the campfire, her eyes lost to the flames (but so _open_, to him at least, because he too, had been there, had known an unbearable weight and faced down an unsolvable challenge), paced his heartbeat at a steady thrum. That he felt such concern, so strongly and so suddenly, should frighten him (not _invigorate _or _rejuvenate_). After all, it had been centuries of time sped up and slowed down, centuries occupied with plotting a revenge that had never seen fruition. The crocodile was now his ally (frustrating, _vexing_) and Milah had been gone for such a _long _time…

- sometimes he wondered indeed if vengeance still counted when your enemy no longer acted like your enemy, when your love was but a faded memory due to so much passage of time, and when it came at the cost of the only hope you had ever known –

…and it hurt, being so consciously aware of his place on her shoulders, as another burden to bear on a harrowing journey, but he would be _damned_ if it continued that way.

(he could hardly expect anything of her and yet despite her reluctance she seemed incapable of doing nothing but _give_)

Because he _had_ been there, had known pain like no other and he had focused in on that _one thing_ until one day he woke up and it was…acceptable, that Rumplestiltskin was alive and on his ship of all things, and he was agreeing to be finished, to be done, to choose _life_ over _revenge _(and Milah, because it had been for her, even if he had the sneaking suspicion she would hate the man he had become).

That was thing about letting your darker emotions best you. They only gave back exactly what you had put in, and he had meant it when he declared vengeance an end and not a beginning.

- and it had been a fine plan to choose death and retribution as long as he wasn't the only one on a sinking ship, until _her_; she had to turn those pleading eyes up to him and tell him she _understood him_ and that _everything is okay until it isn't_ and he had to go and fall into the depths, left only with his own mistakes and a dark past (far _too_ dark for her, he feared, but he could not stop, _refused to stop or even try to_) in order to dig himself out of the pit and show her that maybe, just maybe, he could be worthy.

_Would_ be worthy.

It was as she had said – they understood one another. And every good pirate knows that you have to fight for what you want.

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III

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"Love, you need to get some rest."

Emma cocked her head up at the shadow lurking beside her (although never so terrifying as _actual_ shadows, and how weird it was to be making that distinction). "I'm…keeping watch."

Hook took a seat next to her, on a log she had chosen specifically because it _wasn't_ close to anyone else, and raised an eyebrow – as if daring her to commit to her lie. "No, actually, that would be your mother."

She glanced back towards the campsite, where the fire still provided some light, and where Snow sat (her back towards them thank _god_). Emma raised her chin and narrowed her eyes and stuck to her story. "I'm keeping watch on _this_ side of the camp."

"You can continue telling that to yourself sweetheart, but I think it's best if you just admitted the truth."

She scoffed. "_What_ truth?"

"That you're a frightened-"

"Yeah, well, _Neverland_ just sets my teeth on edge." She interrupted, spouting _Lost Boys _and _mermaids_ and _Peter fucking Pan._

"Perhaps." He admitted, looking so infuriatingly _all-knowing_ as he stared down her gumption. "But then you would not have so much sorrow accompanying your fear."

- and it _pissed her off_ that he spoke like-like…he knew her, knew everything about her, and so because he _happened_ to stumble upon something even remotely true-

"I will have you know that the _only_ thing accompanying my fear is a whole lot of _anger_, so don't go poking around, _pirate_."

Hook chuckled, that wry half smile that was nothing like the way he looked at her when she surprised him, or impressed (or _enticed_, a treacherous voice whispered, sounding an awful lot like Emma herself), and instead reminded her of the man lying in a hospital bed, laughing bitterly because his revenge just never really took. "No need to get angry love, I'll have you know that even though I may be a pirate, I am also a man who knows the feeling all too well – and I _do_ imagine you are quite infuriated. But you are also upset. And scared."

Somehow, by acknowledging it, she felt her ire soothe. Just a little. "I'm nothing. I'm fine."

"You are not."

"I _am._" She insisted.

"Emma –"

There was something so…_ugh_, just _so,_ about his tone (complacent, persistent, fucking _understanding_). "Don't you '_Emma_' me."

"I apologize – Swan, please."

"That is _not_ any better."

"_Fine. _Wench? Lass? Which term of endearment would you have me address you by as I try and help-"

She interrupted him, _again_, with words said on the tip of a snarl. "Oh yeah, wench, absolutely that one."

He answered with a soft growl of his own. "Emma." He said again, settling on the only one that mattered. "Emma, love, I am not trying to…to-oh _I_ _don't know_, exploit some weakness of yours. You know I would never dare, on my _honour_ I would never breathe of this to anyone, so could you please just be honest with me."

_Honestly?_ If she had to pick her biggest sin, it was pride. Followed _very closely_ by wrath. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You gain _nothing_ by refusing to admit-"

"I'll lose _everything_ if I do!" She whispered, harsh and desperate, but still so keenly aware of the bodies slumbering just a small distance away. One breath that vented all of her need for this feeling to _stop_, and then another one after that, another, and another, until finally she had calmed down a little (oh she _hated_ the way her emotions seemed to run, knew that she was damming everything up and that it would take only a well-placed _prod_ for it to come crashing down and _damn it Hook_).

"I will lose it Jones. So don't push." She repeated, lowering her gaze so that she spoke to the log (which had been damn good company up until then, and had never tried to encroach on any personal boundaries).

(unlike _him_, who encroached on absolutely every boundary she even attempted to put up, and then some)

It was silent for a moment, during which she felt god damn _fucking stop it _tears well up in her eyes, with only the _crack_ and _snap_ of the fire behind them.

And then she felt a hand on her shoulder, just staying there, _just right_, and his voice in her ear. "Emma." He prodded, his voice touched and serious and genuine. "It's okay to lose it once in a while."

And she couldn't decide if it was better to _hit him_ in that annoyingly perceptive (smug, compassionate, _infuriating_) face of his or to let the water just _flow_, and somehow managed to do a little bit of both. She looked up at him, half crazed, definitely exhausted, with tears in her eyes. "But I won't, I won't, I'll just _lose_, like I'm always…always _losing things_."

Hook quirked an eyebrow at her, and she could read the question in it, even though he _knew_ she had lost, and even though she shouldn't be playing this game with him, _knew_ that he _knew_, she continued on "I lost my parents, I lost my childhood, I lost _every chance_ of happinessuntil Henry and then I go and lose _him_ too – I can't…I just _can't_."

His hand moved slowly, over her shoulder, pulling her closer, not exactly subtle but soft enough that she didn't try and fight it – besides he was still going _on and on_ even while she was on the verge of hysteria. "You can find the things you've lost lass – isn't that your parents' eternal maxim?"

She laughed softly, but it ended in a sob. How utterly _embarrassing_ this all was, or would be rather, if Hook hadn't drawn her into his chest ever so gradually and if she hadn't just _whimpered _and (okay, ya, later she would look back on this and it would be cheeks aflame and eyes averted).

But it happened and Emma didn't even have it in her heart to worry about Mary-Margaret sitting a few feet away or the fact that the man who held her had professed his _affections_ and his _intentions_ – not when she had finally, _thankfully_ broken.

And maybe that was all there was to it; she knew a liar when she saw one and Hook _hadn't_ lied, not since getting here (okay, maybe the sexton thing had been totally false, but that was for _David_). Logically she should never trust him, and yet inexplicably _did_, almost had since the time she had met him – at least, trusted him if not to lie, to keep his word when he made it.

They stayed like that for a while, her every vexation simply _seeping_ out (but not crying, just…comforting), a moment for her mother and father, for never having them, barely having them, and then only _having_ them in the sense that they _have been ripped away _(or threatened to be), a moment for the saviour that she never thought she could be, for _Henry_, for _Neal_, for Pan and Neverland and even, in a small way, a moment for Hook because she had not expected this and in her calmer moments was not sure she even wanted it.

She _wanted_ to be brave and worthy and _not fall apart_. But she also wanted to be softer, gentler, easier to know, not all hard edges and Emma and walls –

"There we are, love." He soothed, deep voice rumbling over top of her, a hand smoothing over her back and tucking her into his shoulder. "You can let everything out, you're safe here."

_That_ definitely had her laughing into his shirt. "In," _sniff_ "Neverland? Really? That's the case you're going to make?"

He shrugged, the movement only deepening their sideways embrace. "Well, I'll admit, there may be a _few_ more risks here, but I imagine they are nothing you can't handle."

She raised her head, flushed and shy but feeling oddly better. "Yeah?" She asked, softly.

And his face was so _close_ and she could read the answer in his eyes even before he spoke it. "Yeah."

She stayed _that _close for a while longer, still able to feel the warmth radiating off of this _man_ (he had been unapologetically male from the moment she'd met him but somehow it was becoming more obvious as the days passed by).

(more obvious as the _seconds_ ticked by)

Emma smiled, just slightly, but it was warm and genuine and soft and all of the things she hadn't been in so long. "_Thank you_." She said, her voice low of happy with implications (of _trust_ not _that_, geeze). "Really."

"It was my pleasure love." he grinned, each word rolling off his tongue, imbued with sincerity.

She stared and _stared,_ then stood, knowing that it was only a matter of time before someone ruined this moment (or _she_ ruined this moment) - and found that the jittery _magic holy shit_ feeling had decreased enough to beckon sleep back to her side.

She was grateful for the yawn. A sleepy (shy) smile accompanied her parting shot. "G'night Killian."

(totally worth the admission)

(he grinned like a loon)

… (a very attractive loon)

And there were still so many problems to fix, so many variables to account for and the weight of the world on her shoulders, but for this moment she felt…lighter. Like it had suddenly just occurred to her that there were other pairs of shoulders willing to bear the burden with her.

And finally, she found she was willing to let them.

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**AN: **That's right, I accidentally went and found another fandom. I don't even know if this is canon, and the show itself is going run-oof-the-tracks _crazy_, but I can't seem to break away from cute/dirty/fluff Emma and Killian (so expect much much more).


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